


Behind Closed Doors

by SaturnNotFound



Category: DreamSMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Injury, But it's really toxic, Established relationship between Jschlatt and Quackity if you squint, Fucked Up, Fundy is a hero, George Needs a Hug, George is terrified of Schlatt, He finds Schlatt's anger to be hot at first, Ho boy that changes tho, Jschlatt is a paranoid bastard, Jschlatt takes his anger out on everyone around him, M/M, Oneshot, Only violence and angst, Quackity is kinda fucked up, Sapnap is mentioned for a second, Takes place during the Jschlatt presidency, There's really no fluff, anger issues, cussing throughout, for good reason, fundy and quackity are best friends, jschlatt is abusive, strap yourself in, this is gonna be a bumpy ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnNotFound/pseuds/SaturnNotFound
Summary: “I’m doing good for this fucking country! But do any of those ungrateful fucks see it?! NO! Of course not!” Schlatt downed another glass of whiskey, fuming angrily.A timid knock on the door made his crimson gaze turn from glaring out the window to the door.“What?!” The president snapped, and the door opened cautiously to reveal George, who looked nervous and panicky. Quackity blinked, trying to hide his amused smile. George often looked down on Quackity himself before their administration had been elected, and oh how the tables had turned.Schlatt’s lip curled with a devious sneer, his expression mocking and triumphant. It even made Quackity nervous to look at.“George~” Schlatt purred, a dark undertone to his voice. “You finally decided to fucking show up!” George jumped and lowered his head, trembling slightly. Q glanced away, studying the clouds out the window as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. He wasn’t about to interfere or step in--the last time he made that mistake, he went home with two broken ribs.[The abuse fic nobody asked for but I'm subjecting the community to, anyway]
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with some very heavy subjects!! PLEASE heed the warnings and the tags!! It gets messed up, FAST!!!  
> This fic has a looot of headcanons of mine about Jschlatt and the presidency, so keep that in mind!  
> And finally, this is about the CHARACTERS, not the actual irl people!! However if the IRL people ever express discomfort with the fic I will not hesitate to take it down!!  
> Enjoy!

“This is so stupid!” Schlatt’s angry voice snarled, echoing harshly off of the walls of his office. “Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit were nothing but trouble for L’Manburg, why is everyone so angry?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Quackity responded as emotionlessly as possible. He stood up straight against the far wall, near the door, though he wasn’t allowed to leave. Personally, Quackity had agreed with exiling Tommy and Wilbur--but others didn’t seem to be as excited about the change. Hence, Jschlatt’s current frustrated rant.

“I’m doing good for this fucking country! But do any of those ungrateful fucks see it?! NO! Of course not!” Schlatt downed another glass of whiskey, fuming angrily.

A timid knock on the door made his crimson gaze turn from glaring out the window to the door.

“ _ What?! _ ” The president snapped, and the door opened cautiously to reveal George, who looked nervous and panicky. Quackity blinked, trying to hide his amused smile. George often looked down on Quackity himself before their administration had been elected, and oh how the tables had turned.

Truth be told, Quackity hadn’t been sure what changed at first. Suddenly George became timid and anxious, avoiding Q’s gaze and mumbling instead of speaking up.

[Quackity quickly got an answer when he made the mistake of walking into the office without knocking because he’d heard a struggle. Quackity had kicked into defense mode, ready to defend Schlatt with his life if he was being attacked.

He’d heard glass shatter, and when he’d entered, he’d discovered a bottle broken on the ground and George cowering in fear, arms covering his head. Schlatt had paid no mind to Q as he stormed up to George and grabbed him by the wrist, yanking the pale man forwards before snapping his wrist back, a sickening  _ CRACK _ ringing through the room.

George had started screaming in awful, horrible pain, and Quackity rushed from the room and slammed the door, barely making it to the nearest bathroom before he threw up with the image of George’s broken wrist burned into his mind.]

Back in reality, Schlatt’s lip curled with a devious sneer, his expression mocking and triumphant. It even made  _ Quackity _ nervous to look at.

“George~” Schlatt purred, a dark undertone to his voice. “You finally decided to  _ fucking show up! _ ” George jumped and lowered his head, trembling slightly. Q glanced away, studying the clouds out the window as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. He wasn’t about to interfere or step in--the last time he made that mistake, he went home with two broken ribs.

“I-I apologize, Schlatt, sir...I was, gathering, p-paperwork from T-Tubbo and F-Fundy…” George stuttered out. Schlatt smirked, turning his chair a little back and forth behind the desk.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Bring them here, Goggy boy.” Schlatt chuckled, watching George hesitantly make his way to the desk with a predatory expression, keen eyes hungrily taking him in.

As much as it disgusted Quackity…

_ He  _ wanted to be the one Schlatt was looking at like that.

Trembling hands place the papers on Schlatt’s desk, and George lingers there for a moment, unsure of if he was allowed to move or not, restless hands fiddling with his glasses.

George had just opened his mouth to ask if he was dismissed [after a significant silence] when a sharp  _ smack! _ Tore through the air as Schlatt’s hand connected harshly with George’s cheek.

The British man cried out in pain, stumbling back and falling to the ground as Schlatt stands and smooths out his suit, lip curling in disgust. 

“Arms on the ground.” The emperor snarled, and George shook his head minutely.

“P-Please s-sir, I’m s-sorry, I-”

“ **_I SAID!_ ** ” Schlatt roared, “ARMS ON THE GODDAMN GROUND, GEORGE!” Shaking like a leaf, George complied, laying his arms out flat on the ground, the way he knew the emperor wanted him to do.

Quackity would be lying if he said it wasn’t terrifying and hot at the same time.

Schlatt stepped forwards, his expensive shoes coming to rest in the space between George’s ribs at his right arm. George was shaking harder, his breathing fast and panicked, chest heaving with terror. He was whispering soft pleads and apologies, looking up at Schlatt desperately.

But it was too late, he’d already messed up by arriving late.

Schlatt’s foot moved forwards, hovering over George’s wrist that had already been broken several times. Slowly, Schlatt let his weight come down on the appendage until George was sobbing and howling with pain, his other hand uselessly digging at the ground, nails desperately clawing at the carpet. 

Quackity ducked his head and winced, gritting his teeth as he watched Schlatt rise up to put all of his weight on the one foot that was already crushing George’s arm.

That wrist had been broken recently, Quackity knew because it had only just come out of a sling a few days before. The bones were undoubtedly still brittle and fragile, one wrong move and--

In the few seconds Quackity had zoned out, Schlatt had stepped back into the space between George’s ribs and his arm, and George was pulling his wrist to his chest when an animalistic snarl came from Schlatt.

“ **_Arm. Down._ ** ” His tone was low and dangerous, leaving no room to argue. George’s lip trembled and he slowly let his arm rest back down, and Quackity watched as Schlatt raised his foot into the air and brought it slamming back down into the bone.

The crack and the screaming happened at the exact same time, and Quackity’s eyes widened.

“Schlatt!” Q shouted, rushing over to George as he saw Schlatt raise his foot to hurt him again. “That’s enough, stop it! He won’t have a bone left if you aren’t careful!” He carefully helped George up as Schlatt rolled his eyes and stalked over to the desk, sitting down and downing part of his bottle of whiskey. 

“ _ Ow, ow..it hurts, Q, I-- _ ”

“I know, c’mon, you call Sapnap okay? He’ll get you fixed up and taken home.”

“I didn’t say he could leave.” Schlatt growls from the desk.

“You fucking shattered his wrist, he’s going home.” Quackity snarled, glaring at the other man. “Tubbo! Help George. I have to stay with the emperor.” Q called out the door, gently nudging George to the hall and quickly closing the door, turning to face the ram hybrid.

Quackity swallowed thickly, anxiety clawing at his gut as he watched Schlatt slowly pour himself another glass and stand up, walking over to stand in front of him. Schlatt was a full eight and a half inches taller than Quackity, and significantly thicker built, making him an incredibly intimidating presence. Especially with those blood-red eyes.

Q waited for a heavy fist to connect with his cheek, for Schlatt to scream at him or kick him-- _ something _ \--but the ram just took another slow drink and then set his glass down on the small table next to Quackity.

“You talked back to me,” Schlatt said in a low, surprised voice, one with hints of subtle fondness. The other felt his breath leave his lungs at the way the emperor was gazing at him, proud, surprised eyes that were softer than they had ever been looking at  _ George _ . “You actually talked back to me, Big Q.” A soft chuckle rang from Schlatt, and Quackity smiled up at him, a little nervously.

“Sorry sir..” He mumbled shyly, unable to help but wince when Schlatt reached for him. But he let the large, calloused hand rest on his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t be sorry..look at you, my pretty little thing..” Schlatt purred, rubbing Q’s cheek with his thumb, and Quackity hummed happily. “Just don’t let this be a regular thing, you hear me? Can’t let George ‘n Tubbo think I’m going soft.” He let go of Quackity, who whined in protest and Schlatt clicked his tongue.

“You? Never.” Quackity smiled and Schlatt chuckled.

“You’re the only one I can count on, Alex. You know that? The only goddamn one.” The emperor sighed wearily, and Quackity remained silent, though his stomach flipped at the sound of his real name on Schlatt’s tongue. The emperor smirked faintly and glanced at him, “You’re a good boy, Alex.” Q whimpered softly, legs buckling at the praise. Schlatt laughed from his stomach, shaking his head.

“No fair.” Q pouted.

“Completely fair, doll.” Schlatt smiled, grabbing a fresh bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses. “Come,” He ordered gently, and Quackity immediately paced over and sat down next to the other man, gently fanning out the papers that George had left. “Good boy.” Schlatt growled under his breath, and Q’s lips twitched with a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” Q murmured as Schlatt handed him a glass. “Mm, Schlatt?”

“Mhmmm?” Schlatt hummed, taking a sip of his drink and reading over one of the papers with a frown.

“There was a riot at the old border wall according to this...Wilbur and Tommy causing trouble?” Schlatt sighed heavily, his eyes darkening with anger.

“Of course. It’s always them.”

The two worked in silence, going through a few more glasses before words were finally spoken again.

“They’re all traitors, Quackity.” Schlatt growled. Quackity’s eyes widened slightly and he glanced over at Schlatt.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t trust any of them.  _ We _ can’t trust any of them! Tubbo’s a traitor. I’m certain of it. I’m going to have him executed at the festival.” Q felt his heart stop.

“Wh...what makes you...think he’s a traitor?”

“I just know it. Technoblade will be the one to do it. I’m not certain of Fundy either. And George is just pathetic.”

“Now, hold on,” He wouldn’t have spoken up if it weren’t for the alcohol, “Fundy is my best friend, Schlatt, he’s the most trustable person there is, besides me.”

“Sure.” Schlatt scoffed and rolled his eyes, and that made Quackity’s blood boil up.

“Would you just  _ stop _ being so paranoid?! For five  _ seconds _ , Schlatt?!” He slams his hand against the table angrily, grabbing the glass of whiskey in front of him and quickly downing the rest of it. The liquid burns his throat, but he doesn’t care. “You constantly think everyone is against you, well they aren’t! _Tu idiota!_ ”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Schlatt snarled dangerously.

“An idiot! You heard me! You’d be better off if you listened to me once in a while, but you don’t! You never do! You show me absolutely no fucking respect! You’re just a bully! I want respect, Schlatt!”

“ _ You think you fuckin’ deserve respect, you ungrateful bitch?! _ ” Schlatt stood sharply, and Quackity did too, trying to keep a firm glare on his expression.

“I do more than you fucking realize for this administration, Schlatt! You probably would have killed George or Tubbo or Fundy by now if it weren’t for me! I do a shit ton of paperwork and advertising and talking you up! I write your fucking speeches, for god’s sake! You’re nothing but a lazy, useless, paranoid, drunk _bastardo_ who only cares about himself!” The moment the string of words flew out of his mouth, Quackity immediately regretted them. But he didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop. “You’re always going on about how Wilbur and Tommy were so awful, well guess what?! You’re fucking  _ worse _ , Schlatt!”

The vice president was seeing stars before he even felt the pain of the stinging mark on his cheek where Schlatt had backhanded him so hard he was sent tumbling back over the chair and to the ground, groaning in pain.

Terror set in when he looked up through blurry eyes and saw the emperor picking up the empty bottle of whiskey that had been discarded earlier. All the vice president could think about was the last time Schlatt had a bottle in his hand when he came at him--and broke it over Quackity's head, leaving a deep scar that he had to constantly cover with his beanie.

“Sch-Schlatt I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--please forgive me sir…” Quackity uttered meekly, knowing it was useless. Schlatt didn’t even grant him a response, hardly so much as a glance as he smashed the bottle over the edge of the desk, sending brownish glass skittering across the oak wood.

A menacing, jagged weapon remained in the ram’s curled fist, the neck of the bottle tightly held in the curl of his fingers, the wicked edges of glass glinting ominously in the room’s light.

“Sch-Schlatt! Schlatt please don’t do this, I’m sorry! Please!” Quackity cried out in terror, scrambling back as Schlatt moved forwards, his breath heavy with anger. Quackity could smell his whiskey-ridden breath from where he was on the floor, and saw that killer look in his red eyes in an instant. “SCHLATT PLEASE I’M SORRY DON’T DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE I’M SORRY!” Q screamed, raising his arms defensively. 

The emperor grabbed his vice president by the red tie of his suit and yanked him upwards, in one sharp movement he stabbed the broken bottle into Quackity’s stomach, who choked and grabbed his arms, paling. The pain was like fire, the remains of the alcohol on the glass making the injury sting twice as bad. Q's eyes glistened with tears as his lip trembled and he started up at Schlatt’s merciless, unforgiving eyes. The ram sloppily yanked the bottle back, causing Quackity to scream, before he drives it in again, and again and again, grunting angrily as a string of barely coherent Spanish pleas and curses and apologies spill from the other as his vision fades in and out.

When his hand is soaked in blood and the glass has broken apart inside of Q, Schlatt finally drops him, satisfied and huffing exhaustedly. 

“Don’t you  **ever** ,” Schlatt snarled, “ **Talk to me like that again, Alexis. _Or I’ll slit your fucking throat with the glass_.** ” He stepped over the vice president’s body and left, Q remaining in a steadily growing pool of his own blood as he fumbled for his phone.

“ _Yello_?” A voice on the other end said when he finally managed to get the right number.

“ _F--Fun--dy--_ ” Quackity wheezed, choking on blood.

“ _Quackity?! Oh my god what happened where are you?!”_

“ _Sch...Schlatt’s...off-fice...h-help...pl-lease…_ ” Quackity whimpered weakly,

“ _I’m already on my way, just hang on, hang on alright?_ ”

Quackity fell unconscious not long after Fundy had arrived. And he dreamed of Schlatt’s calloused hands providing soft, gentle touches dipped in honey instead of harsh, aggressive injuries full of wasp stingers.

He dreamt of loving touches and stolen glances, being held close and cuddled through the night.

He dreamt of “I love you, Alexis,” instead of “Don’t talk to me like that again, Alexis.”

And when he awoke, he cried, mourning the life he couldn’t live. The one that Schlatt repeatedly promised him, but would never, ever, provide.


End file.
